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One moment, she was about to defeat her idiot brothers and commence her enslavement of the multiverse.
The next, she was being crushed to death by an idiot flame giant.
Yet, it was not the fate of the Goddess of Death to perish during Ragnarök.
While she lost her grip on reality as the heat and pressure smashed down all around her, when the Asgardian regained consciousness, she was anywhere but the desolate, shattered realm that would have been left in Surtur’s wake.
Instead, Hela found herself floating atop a charred door. As her doubled vision slowly refocused, the woman squeezed onto the shattered frame of her makeshift raft and attempted to relive the final moments before the darkness. The blow should have slain her, should it?
No, of course not. Death was her realm, not her fate.
With the aching in her skull abated and her vision restored enough to see clearly, Hela lifted her head from the door and squinted into the horizons.
Nothing.
A scowl spread across her lovely visage as her features darkened. How long could she endure out here before conditions grew worse? How long until nightfall? In an attempt to ascertain what time of day it might be, the Asgardian lifted her head up to pinpoint the location of any stars in the sky. Instead of stars or even a dense cloud cover, she saw land masses high in the skies above her.
Her first assumption had been that the destruction of Asgard had flung her back to Midgard, as that had been the only other location to which she had been linked since her revival. Instead, it appeared that she was somewhere else entirely in the realms. Which one of the nine realms was this one? She had only been in Asgard for a short period of time, and her memories of the other realms had just gradually started to return in all the vivid, bloodstained details.
Yet, she couldn’t recall oceans with floating islands in the sky.
Nevertheless, there was nothing she could do from the water. With a sneer, she lifted her head and let go of the door.
But rather than soar gallantly and gracefully into the sky, Hela flopped into the water as the back end of her makeshift raft smacked her in the chin.
With the obscenities lost in the bubbles, the Goddess of Death clawed her way back onto the door and dug her fingernails into the wood to quell the fresh waves of rage boiling inside her beleaguered frame. Surely, this was just weakness brought about by surviving the best that Surtur could muster. Lifting a hand to her head, Hela scowled at the absence of her headdress, but that small piece of vanity could wait until later.
For now, she had to…
Survive.
Her powers would return, she knew this to be true. Once the fatigue wore off, she would ascend to the floating landmasses and exert her dominion over whatever part of the Nine Realms this was. After all, she was Queen of the Realms, even if those two idiots had seen fit to destroy Asgard.
The fact that nearly all of her powers had been rooted in Asgard was seemingly lost to Hela as she drifted back into a semiconscious haze.
The next, she was being crushed to death by an idiot flame giant.
Yet, it was not the fate of the Goddess of Death to perish during Ragnarök.
While she lost her grip on reality as the heat and pressure smashed down all around her, when the Asgardian regained consciousness, she was anywhere but the desolate, shattered realm that would have been left in Surtur’s wake.
Instead, Hela found herself floating atop a charred door. As her doubled vision slowly refocused, the woman squeezed onto the shattered frame of her makeshift raft and attempted to relive the final moments before the darkness. The blow should have slain her, should it?
No, of course not. Death was her realm, not her fate.
With the aching in her skull abated and her vision restored enough to see clearly, Hela lifted her head from the door and squinted into the horizons.
Nothing.
A scowl spread across her lovely visage as her features darkened. How long could she endure out here before conditions grew worse? How long until nightfall? In an attempt to ascertain what time of day it might be, the Asgardian lifted her head up to pinpoint the location of any stars in the sky. Instead of stars or even a dense cloud cover, she saw land masses high in the skies above her.
Her first assumption had been that the destruction of Asgard had flung her back to Midgard, as that had been the only other location to which she had been linked since her revival. Instead, it appeared that she was somewhere else entirely in the realms. Which one of the nine realms was this one? She had only been in Asgard for a short period of time, and her memories of the other realms had just gradually started to return in all the vivid, bloodstained details.
Yet, she couldn’t recall oceans with floating islands in the sky.
Nevertheless, there was nothing she could do from the water. With a sneer, she lifted her head and let go of the door.
But rather than soar gallantly and gracefully into the sky, Hela flopped into the water as the back end of her makeshift raft smacked her in the chin.
With the obscenities lost in the bubbles, the Goddess of Death clawed her way back onto the door and dug her fingernails into the wood to quell the fresh waves of rage boiling inside her beleaguered frame. Surely, this was just weakness brought about by surviving the best that Surtur could muster. Lifting a hand to her head, Hela scowled at the absence of her headdress, but that small piece of vanity could wait until later.
For now, she had to…
Survive.
Her powers would return, she knew this to be true. Once the fatigue wore off, she would ascend to the floating landmasses and exert her dominion over whatever part of the Nine Realms this was. After all, she was Queen of the Realms, even if those two idiots had seen fit to destroy Asgard.
The fact that nearly all of her powers had been rooted in Asgard was seemingly lost to Hela as she drifted back into a semiconscious haze.